Entertainment

Lead Me Not

Saturday, 31 May 2003 19:00:05 CDT David-Braverman Entertainment (0)

Waiting at a restaurant bar
To meet my wife for dinner
And this woman walks in
Can’t help staring at her
I mean, this girl is hot
Rounded and tight, wicked curves
When she turns, I hold my breath
My god, she has incredible curves
She’s a little short, but whatever
A body like that, who cares about height?
She’d be tall enough in my bed
On her back or on all fours
It’s all good, all she’s got
Hair pulled back in a ponytail
Skin-tight T-shirt, cut low and high
Bright orange short shorts, and tight
Ah, yes, she wears French cut…
And across her ass, the word “midfielder”
I get to see that several times
Don’t know what it means, don’t care
And I’m thinking, just go away
I don’t need this right now
You’re too hot and I’m too tempted
Just keep walking and I’ll be okay
But look at that ass, those tits, those lips
She’s built to play and I’m feeling frisky
Imagination and temptation rising
Just look at that body
Just think what I could do with that
No baggage, no waiting, just raw
She’s so ripe and I’m so ready
No, no, stop that – I’m married
And I’m waiting here for my wife
Keep it cool, this is not a problem

So then she sits down next to me
Oh great, like I needed this
Too distracting, too tempting, too much
Maybe if I don’t look, it’ll be easier
Like maybe I’ll forget she’s there
Yeah, right
Eyes on my drink, aren’t ice cubes fascinating?
I could just stare at ’em for hours…
Why is she looking at me?
Uh-oh, she’s going to talk; not good
Hi.
Uh, hello, how are you?
Now why the hell did I ask that? Too late…
I’m good, she says, and I believe her
Stop that, this is just small talk
I’m not a teenager, no pickup lines here
Just two strangers talking in a bar
Passing the time in anonymous social…
I’m Alicia, she says with a smile
Uh-oh…
I’m Brad, I lie; can she tell?
Hi, Brad. Guess not
Maybe she doesn’t care
Maybe she doesn’t know any better
I mean, she looks pretty young
Late teens, early 20s
How much experience could she possibly have?
Does she even think to look for a ring?
Would she care if she saw one?
Hi, Alicia. You waiting for someone, too?
Yeah. I guess I should call her, huh?
Yeah, probably.
And then she laughs, and touches me
I heard this great joke today…
She tells me and it’s funny
She’s still touching me
Why don’t I pull away?
Then I hear myself saying,
Hey, that reminds me of a joke…
She laughs when I tell it
Head back, eyes bright, mouth wide open
She really liked my joke, no faking

So now we’re trading jokes
Laughter comes easily, and more touching
I hardly notice now – but I do notice
I don’t stop her, I don’t mention I’m married
Maybe this is just harmless fun
My wife could show up any moment now
Oops, gotta run, thanks for the laughs
But not yet, and I’m sweating now
She keeps touching me, subtle but repeated
She’s so sexy and I’m so tempted
Why can’t she just go away?
The jokes and stories are quite raunchy now
We’re deep in hard-core thoughts
I need to resist, I need to walk away
I can’t, I just can’t
I’m so ashamed
Might as well get something for my pain, then…

She leans forward, another private dirty joke
What a view she gives me
(Hey Alicia…nice rack!)
I mean, look at those tits
Look at them – big, round, firm, delicious
She knows I’m looking
She wants me to look
She’s got me hooked, we both know it
The question is, what will I do?
First, I laugh at her joke
It’s really funny and really nasty
Yeah, she knows what she’s doing
Then I look at her, just look
My eyes say what my lips can’t
She looks away, suddenly overwhelmed
The rules of the game have changed
But have they really?
She pulls out her cell phone:
Maybe I’d better call my friend.
Her eyes are dancing with mine
Her lips are telling lies
Her body is being honest
My reaction is a reflex, no thought
No, Alicia, and I take her hand
I’ve got a much better idea.
She smiles
That sounds like a great idea, Brad.
And then we’re both gone…

If I Awake, It Will Be Very Slowly

Saturday, 31 May 2003 19:00:05 CDT David-Braverman Entertainment (0)

The Buddha did not drive his car at 7:45am
He never faced the corporate hierarchy
No student loans weighed on his shoulders
He walked away from his marriage
The Buddha had the freedom to choose, to explore
He taught us to accept the inevitability of change
He told us that letting go = serenity
And this path lies between asceticism and opulence

Well, I try to walk the Middle Way
I try to accept that change happens
But I slip a little in rush hour traffic
A little more working in my cubicle
A little more in the grocery store at 5:30pm
A little more in conversation at the dinner table
It adds up, little by little, to a lot of dissatisfaction
So much frustration and disappointment

And I get to try again tomorrow?

Submitted by reader S.P.

Joke: Tom Jones

Wednesday, 19 March 2003 13:30:05 CST David-Braverman Entertainment (0)

—Doctor, Doctor, I can't stop singing "The Green Grass of Home."

—That sounds like Tom Jones Syndrome.

—Is it Common?

—It's not unusual!

Submitted by reader M.G.

Joke: Clinton's urinal

Wednesday, 19 March 2003 13:15:05 CST David-Braverman Entertainment (0)

Before the 2001 inauguration of George Bush, he was invited to a get acquainted tour of the White House. After drinking several glasses of iced tea, he asked Bill Clinton if he could use his personal bathroom.

When he entered Clinton's private toilet, he was astonished to see that President Clinton had a solid gold urinal.

That afternoon, George told his wife, Laura, about the urinal. "Just think," he said, "when I am President, I could have a gold urinal, too. But I wouldn't do something that self-induligible!"

Later, when Laura had lunch with Hillary at her tour of the White House, she told Hillary how impressed George had been at his discovery of the fact that, in the President's private bathroom, the President had a gold urinal.

That evening, when Bill and Hillary were getting ready for bed, Hillary smiled, and said to Bill, "I found out who pissed in your saxophone."

Submitted by reader N.A.

Joke: Paddy's new horse

Tuesday, 04 February 2003 18:00:04 CST David-Braverman Entertainment (0)

It seems there was an Irishman wanting to buy himself a horse. So he went to the open market, which is a place in Ireland where people sell things, among which are...horses. Well, he saw one that he liked and asked the price.

Paddy, who was selling the horse said to him, "Well, now, I'll be sellin' you this horse but I feel there's something I need to tell you first."

Well, the man wanted to know what that was. Paddy said, "Well, it seems he has a strange habit of wantin' to sit on bananas."

Now, the man thought Paddy was crazy! "Sit on bananas?"

"Yes," Paddy said. "Seems she likes to sit on bananas."

Now the man thought about this and realizing there weren't all that many bananas in the whole of Ireland figured it was a good bargain and he bought the horse.

As soon as he'd paid for the horse, he got on it and began to ride. Well, it was a good horse. It galloped across the market, it leaped over the hedges, it ran down the roads and jumped the fences and soon it began to approach a narrow stream. The man thought, "This is a grand horse. Surely it'll clear this small stream." When, all of a sudden, just as its hooves touched the water, it promptly came to halt and sat in the water!

The man went flying through the air and landed in a bush. He ripped his coat and put a nasty gash in his arm. But he pulled the horse up and got back on and galloped across the meadow, ran up the road, jumped the fences, leaped over the hedges and galloped across the market until he stopped it right by Paddy!

The man jumped off the horse and began to yell, "What sort of a stupid animal did you sell me?"

"Well," began Paddy, "I told you she was a bit strange...that she liked to sit on bananas, didn't I?"

"WHAT?" shouted the man. "Bananas? I galloped her across the market, I leaped her over hedges, ran her up the road, jumped her over fences and when I came to a small stream she stopped dead in her tracks and sat in the water! I tore my coat and gashed my arm!"

"Ooooh," began Paddy. "I forgot to tell you...she also likes to sit on fishes..."

Submitted by reader M.G.

Joke: The Jewish Samurai

Friday, 31 January 2003 20:30:05 CST David-Braverman Entertainment (0)

Back in the time when the Samurai were important, there was a powerful emperor who needed a new chief Samurai, so he sent out a declaration throughout the land that he was searching for one. A year passed, and only 3 people showed up: A Japanese Samurai. A Chinese Samurai. A Jewish Samurai.

The emperor asked the Japanese Samurai to come in and demonstrate why he should be the chief Samurai. The Japanese Samurai opened a matchbox, and out popped a bumblebee. Whoosh went his sword, and the bumblebee dropped dead on the ground in 2 pieces. The emperor exclaimed: "That is impressive!"

The emperor then issued the same challenge to the Chinese Samurai for him to come in and demonstrate why he should be chosen. The Chinese Samurai also opened a matchbox, and out buzzed a bumblebee. "Whoosh, whoosh" went his sword, and the bumblebee dropped dead on the ground in four small pieces. The emperor exclaimed: "That is really VERY impressive!"

Next the emperor turned to the Jewish Samurai, and asked him also to demonstrate why he should be the head Samurai. The Jewish Samurai also opened a matchbox, and once again out flew a bumblebee. His flashing sword went "Whoosh, whoosh." But the bumblebee was still alive and flying around. The emperor, obviously disappointed, asked: "After all of that, why is this bumblebee not dead?"

The Jewish Samurai just smiled and said: "Circumcision is not meant to kill."

Submitted by reader M.B.

Joke: Message for the Manager

Friday, 31 January 2003 20:30:04 CST David-Braverman Entertainment (0)

A very attractive lady goes up to a bar in a pub. She gestures alluringly to the bartender who comes over immediately. When he arrives, she seductively signals that he should bring his face closer to hers.

When he does she begins to gently caress his full beard. "Are you the manager?" she asks, softly stroking his face with both hands.

"Actually, no," the man replied.

"Can you get him for me? I need to speak to him" she says, running her hands beyond his beard and into his hair.

"I'm afraid I can't," breathes the bartender. "Is there anything I can do?

"Yes, there is. I need you to give him a message," she continues, running her forefinger across the bartender's lips and slyly popping a couple of her fingers into his mouth and allowing him to suck them gently.

"What should I tell him?" the bartender manages to say.

"Tell him," she whispers, "there is no toilet paper, hand soap, or paper towels in the ladies room."

Submitted by reader B.P.

Joke: Polly's passing

Friday, 31 January 2003 20:30:04 CST David-Braverman Entertainment (0)

A woman brought a very limp parrot into a veterinary surgeon. As she lay her pet on the table, the vet pulled out his stethoscope and listened to the bird's chest. After a moment or two, the vet shook his head sadly and said, "I'm so sorry. Polly has passed away."

The distressed owner wailed, "Are you sure? I mean, you haven't done any testing on him or anything. He might just be in a coma or something."
The vet rolled his eyes, shrugged, turned and left the room. He returned a few moments later with beautiful black Labrador. As the bird's owner looked on in amazement, the dog stood on his hind legs, put his front paws on the examination table and sniffed the dead parrot from top to bottom. He then looked at the vet with sad eyes and shook his head. The vet led the dog out, but returned a few moments later with a lovely Siamese cat.

The cat jumped up and also sniffed delicately at the ex-bird. The cat sat back, shook its head, meowed and ran out of the room. The vet looked at the woman and said, "I'm sorry; but as I said, your parrot is most definitely, 100 percent certifiably dead."

He then turned to his computer terminal, hit a few keys and produced a bill which he handed to the woman. The parrot's owner, still in shock, took the bill. "$150!" she cried. "$150 just to tell me my bird is dead?!"

The vet shrugged. "If you'd taken my word for it, the bill would only have been $20, but with the Lab Report and the Cat Scan..."

Submitted by reader B.P.

Joke: Zebediah

Friday, 31 January 2003 20:30:03 CST David-Braverman Entertainment (0)

Zebediah was in the fertilized egg business. He had several hundred young layers, called pullets, and eight or ten roosters, whose job was to fertilize the eggs.

Zeb kept records, and any rooster that didn't perform well went into the soup pot and was replaced. That took an awful lot of Zeb's time; so, Zeb got a set of tiny bells and attached them to his roosters. Each bell had a different tone so that Zeb could tell, from a distance, which rooster was performing. Now he could sit on the porch and fill out an efficiency report simply by listening to the bells.

Zeb's favorite rooster was old Brewster. A very fine specimen he was, too. But on this particular morning, Zeb noticed that Brewster's bell had not rung at all! Zeb went to investigate.

The other roosters were chasing pullets, bells a-ringing. The pullets, hearing the roosters coming, would run for cover. But, to Zeb's amazement, Brewster had his bell in his beak, so it couldn't ring. He'd sneak up on a pullet, do his job and walk on to the next one. Zeb was so proud of Brewster that he entered him in the county fair.

Brewster was an immediate sensation The judges not only awarded him the No Bell Piece Prize but also the Pulletsurprise.

Submitted by reader C.K.

Humor: It's a Job

Friday, 08 November 2002 10:00:04 CST David-Braverman Entertainment (0)

My job involves driving a van around neighborhoods looking for customers. You see, most people are too embarrassed to call for help, even when the problem gets so bad that they have trouble living in their house. So I cruise around areas, looking for certain signs that might indicate a problem, sometimes calling into the dispatcher in case someone has the courage to admit they need help. It's a decent job, somewhat humbling for me with all my degrees and experience. Still, it pays well and the work isn't hard, just a little dull. And, of course, just a touch surreal. All this is going through my head as I drive through the affluent suburbs around Syracuse.

One sunny Saturday morning, the dispatcher sends me to a nice neighborhood in Manlius. As I pull into the driveway, I see the signs. Oh yeah. They're pretty clear: This house has a problem. A big one. But maybe it's just on the outside. I've got solutions for external problems. It's when they go inside that things get much more tricky. I'd better go in, take a look around, let them know the professional has arrived, see how bad the problem really is.

"Thank God you're here!" the obviously relieved woman of the house says, letting me in. "We weren't sure what to do. I mean, they're everywhere, and we thought maybe they'd just leave after a few days. But…"
"They didn't. They just kept spreading, and more showed up, and you thought 'This can't be happening'. But it was, and it is. Right?" I keep a straight face, knowing she's really upset and she needs me to be a Professional about this.

"Yes, exactly. And then I remembered…" She tells me a long story about how she knows someone who knows someone who had this problem last year, and they called my company, and we took care of it. Quickly, discreetly, efficiently.

"Ma'am, I'm glad you called." I look into the living room. There's one on the TV, several nesting on the couch, one sitting on a lamp, a family walking into the bathroom—must be time to train the little ones about water. And then the clincher: A young boy walks by, looking sad and defeated. There's a white duck on his head, looking quite self-assured and in charge.

"Yep, you've got a duck problem here. Fortunately, I'm a professional; I can help you. Just take your family out for a few hours and I'll take care of everything." And she leaves, so relieved, and I head out to the van to get the tools I'll need.

Yeah, this is my job, and I'm not proud of it, but when I can see how much I'm needed by people, I don't feel quite so silly. I feel powerful, useful, needed.

My name is Glenn Hamilton, and I'm a professional duck exterminator.

Submitted by reader S.P.